


It's Too Late To Say Goodnight

by Tirrathee



Series: HMS 00Q [1]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirrathee/pseuds/Tirrathee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleep is not just for the weak. Not when you're dealing with a double-oh with the number seven. (aka tags are cooler than writing a summary because you don't need to pretend you're coherent in them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Too Late To Say Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> So now I'm re-reading this for like fourth time and cracking up because [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyYDbCdFyz0) started playing in my mind. Thus the title.
> 
> I wrote this on the chat after my brain skipped between cardigans gifted by M and why there should be the Major Character Death tw on every fic where the mug breaks, then slipped and birthed this. Expect no quality if I ever had one, I was half-asleep by then and decided against beta-ing or fixing anything except tense inconsistency.
> 
> duh. hope you enjoy. c:

Q blinked slowly, realizing he’d fallen asleep on his desk again. His head felt like a thousand pounds and wrapped in warm cotton, refusing to move from where it was perched atop his arm; and one of the reasons he loved that cardigan M had gifted him upon his taking over the Q-Branch was that it was ridiculously soft to the touch and served as a brilliant makeshift pillow for napping in the office. And it was warm, too; however he knew the room to be usually far more chilly than what he felt at the moment. He shifted minutely and registered the blanket some good soul had wrapped him in. A sound not unlike a soft purr rolled in his chest.

His vision remained fuzzy, but he was okay with that; the warmth surrounding him was a pleasant bubble of half-wakefulness he loathed to leave just yet, and the blur in his eyes helped to put some distance between himself and the reality he’d need to face soon. With a hint of regret he thought it would be nice to mute the sounds, too, but the usual bickering of interns in the background slowly but surely was pulling him into the sharp-edged, bright waking world. With a sigh he took the effort to raise his head, blinking owlishly at his surroundings, trying to clear his vision. It didn’t work.

 _huh?_  It took a second or two to realize his glasses were gone, and he groped blindly for them (partially because his eyesight was actually shit; but mostly because his brain still refused to wake in full). He froze when his hand hit something cold and ceramic, knocking it off the desk.

The realization that he had just dropped his beloved mug to certain death on the unforgiving concrete of the floor had him snap to full attention in the span of a nanosecond; he suspected his eyes went ridiculously wide. For a heartbeat, a rush of panic and regret filled him; when the sound of cracking ceramic failed to come, though, he dared move again.

A blurry figure rose to tower over him and a hand set the mug safely on the tabletop. With a chuckle that would annoy the hell out of Q on any other occasion, Bond then pulled Q’s glasses out of a pocket and steadied his head with a hand on his chin, putting them on his Quartermaster’s nose with the other. ‘Rise and shine, Q,’ the agent smiled (with just a hint of mockery.) ‘Please be mindful of your precious cup next time you wake up. It would do you good to sleep in a bed; it is a piece of furniture designed to provide comfortable rest without the risk of damaging goods afterwards.’

‘Surprising as it may seem to you, 007, I am aware of the existence of such,’ slurred Q, getting up and failing to catch the blanket that slipped off his shoulders. ‘It would do the entire MI6 some good if you for once got a night’s worth of sleep on a mission when I could catch up on my beauty naps, too.’

‘Aren’t you a ray of sunshine whenever you wake up in your office,’ quipped Bond and picked the blanket up, folding it neatly and hanging over his forearm. ‘At least get a foldable bed in here, I bet your back already hurts when you don’t move for too long. Some field work would work miracles for your body.’

‘Not all of us are made for hurling themselves onto traintops and into frozen lakes,’ snapped Q, waking up his screens from standby. ‘Besides, someone has to make sure you know where you are.’

‘Q, you underestimate my navigation skills.’

‘When is the last time you actually used the Tube? And I mean for transport, not chasing your newest nemesis and blowing holes in tunnels. Besides, have you lost your way to M’s office? I fail to see any sign of you having reported to her. Please don’t tell me you came straight in here.’

‘It wasn’t me blowing the holes,’ muttered Bond. ‘But I brought back your toy.’

‘I heard you there using singular form. You were given exactly four pieces of equipment that cost a bloody fortune, perhaps excluding the radio- oh but of course that would be the only thing you didn’t destroy or lose. Christ’s sake, 007.’ Q did nothing to hide his exasperation as Bond placed the tiny gadget next to his mug. He turned to the agent. ‘You’re not getting a third gun coded to your hand. I won’t even give you a bloody paper knife if you fail to return the equipment one more time.’

‘But your mug is intact, thanks to me,’ stated Bond with a self-reassured smile. Q narrowly restrained himself from an eyeroll, caving in.

‘Yes, damn you. But it’s creepy when you watch me sleep.’

‘You like it. And how can I help myself when you snooze so cutely.’

‘…Not even a paper knife, mark my word.’

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr.](http://earthsmightiesttimebomb.tumblr.com/post/35157638536/in-which-my-responsibility-scores-42-against-fandoms)


End file.
